


these delightful delights have delightful ends

by blacksandunderstars



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Explicit Language, Gen, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 21:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacksandunderstars/pseuds/blacksandunderstars
Summary: . . . in which Cassandra Pentaghast hears a word she didn’t expect . . .





	these delightful delights have delightful ends

**Author's Note:**

> Inquisitor is implied but unnamed.

The word haunted Cassandra for the rest of the day. It was such an innocent word, so playful and well intentioned. And the way the woman had said it to her—the smile, the flirtatious tone of her voice—it was certainly meant as a compliment.

Delightful.

What did it mean anyway? What part of her was delightful, exactly? She wanted an answer, but had nobody she dared ask. 

The word continued to rattle around in her head as she took her practice swings against the straw filled wicker dummy in front of her. It continued to lurk when she finally called it a day and stalked back to her temporary quarters in one of the Chantry’s spare rooms. 

She hoped taking a bath might banish it, might possibly wash it away along with all the dirt and sweat and blood she’d collected during what had proved to be an exhausting day. But once she was finally sitting there in tub of water it still taunted her, as if it had somehow gotten into the wisps and curls of steam, and she couldn’t stop herself breathing it in.

She’d never used soap in anger before, but then she’d also never been called delightful before. Apparently this was a day for new things.

After the bath she went back to her room and tried sleeping. It was probably asking the Maker for too much to bother praying she would get any rest, and she passed a few hours in restlessness before knew for sure there’d be no refuge granted.

And her mood had only gotten worse, because now she was livid—absolutely, utterly, almost blasphemously angry. There was only one way she knew of to deal with that kind of anger, so she gave up on sleep, rolling out of bed and pulling on the first items of clothing which came to hand as she fumbled in the dark. 

Outside it was very cold. With the moon just above the mountains on one side of the sky and the rift still flickering on the other, the world had taken on a dual aspect—pale blue and silver matched against a weak, sickly green. Everything caught in the middle looked unearthly. Even the shadows looked wrong.

Haven seemed all the more of a refuge when set against the eerie backdrop of the valley surrounding it. Hearth and candle light spilled from the windows of every home, and torches lit the walls and paths of the village. Lanterns glowed within the canvas tents which sheltered the bulk of their growing army. Voices and music drifted through the air from the tavern.

Cassandra stood for a moment beneath the looming edifice of the Chantry temple and tried to take some comfort from the life and warmth sprawled out around her. On any other evening the sight would have been cheerful, even, yes, delightful. But on this night it felt like it might be the last vestige of such to be found in all of Thedas. There was no comfort to be found.

Then, muttering a quiet prayer under her breath as she went, she hunted her way forward through the mud and slush and down the closest thing to a street in Haven, heading for the front gate.

Along the way she passed groups of Inquisition guards who had been unlucky enough to get assigned the night watch. They saluted smartly when they saw her, but every one of them looked agitated, like they were compulsively checking every shadow and suggestion of something moving in the dark. The few who managed to meet her scowl had fear in their eyes.

All of which only added to her fury. This was the wrong time to be distracted, and she was very distracted. That horrible, unbelievable word still loomed over her thoughts.

She went back to the practice dummies which they’d set up alongside their makeshift camp outside of the village and, moving quickly, scooped up one of the much abused training swords in one hand and grabbed a dummy with the other. She dragged the dummy out of the camp and into the nearby trees until she had gone far enough to feel satisfied she would have a little privacy.

Then, in the pool of shadows beneath the trees, she went back to doing what she felt she knew best—hitting things, quite hard, with iron and steel. 

And with every stroke of the blade she grew in her certainty that she was the exact opposite of delightful and had probably never felt actual delight nor inspired it in other people. Without realizing, she started to say the word under her breath, timing it with each swing. She let the anger work down her arm, driving each strike harder and harder, saying the word louder and louder, until she found herself out of breath and had to stop.

The dummy had been cut to pieces, broken apart from fake neck to fake waist. She gave one of the pieces a solid kick and sent it spinning off into the trees, then threw the now shattered practice sword after it. She might have yelled, too, if it wouldn’t have attracted unwanted attention.

Foolishness, that’s what it was. She’d never liked fools and never tolerated anything she might consider foolish in herself and yet, here she was, feeling very much like the queen of all fools.

After looking around to make sure there hadn’t been an audience for her fit, she wiped the sweat from her face and sat down on the frozen ground in front of the ruins of the dummy.

Why did that word bother her so much?

But it was a problem to be solved some other time, such as when they weren’t being attacked by demons which dropped out of holes in the sky. Besides, whatever it had been which had vexed her seemed to have mostly dissipated with the exertion. Or maybe it was just the cold getting to her.

She eyed the shattered dummy.

“I am so fucking delightful,” she said.

There was no response. If there had been, it still would’ve only ranked as the third strangest thing to have happened in the last day or so.

“Go on, disagree.”

The only sound was the wind as it rocked the trees and the distant crackle of fires in Haven. Then, while Cassandra stubbornly waited for an answer, it started to snow.

**Author's Note:**

> Cassandra is the best. I love her so much.


End file.
